User blog:Squibstress/Epithalamium - Chapter 35
Title: Epithalamium Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama, romance Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; teacher-student relationship (of-age); language, violence Published: 23/05/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Thirty-Five "They were our mistakes." In future years, Minerva would reflect that if her life were written as Renaissance drama—or Restoration comedy, as she might have preferred it—the spring of 1957 would be placed firmly at the beginning of the third act, for it was then that her destiny became irrevocably entwined with Albus Dumbledore's. She could not pinpoint the precise moment, but she thought it might well have been the afternoon they spent reviewing Albus's N.E.W.T. students together, putting the seventh-years, who were a mere twelve weeks from sitting their exams, through their paces. The purpose was to sort out who was on track and who needed extra help to have a hope of passing the challenging exam. At the end of the two-hour period, Albus and Minerva sat together at the large desk in the Transfiguration classroom discussing which students needed help in what areas. "Of the lot, I'd say Miss Belby's in the worst shape," said Minerva. "She doesn't have a natural gift for Transfiguration, and she lacks the ability to focus intensely enough to make up for it." "I agree," Albus said. "Do you think she'd benefit from some extra coaching, or is it a lost cause?" "Oh, I never think any student is a lost cause. Even if she doesn't manage to pass her N.E.W.T., a little extra help will only improve her skills." "Very well," said Minerva. "I'll mark her down for an extra hour twice a week; do you think that will do?" "Yes, thank you, my dear. If I might offer a suggestion?" "Of course. I'd be glad of your advice." "Spend a week or two just going over the spells she has difficulty with; then, if she's made some progress, introduce some distractions—whatever you think appropriate—and drill her on everything, from the basics to the advanced spell work." "All right, I will, thank you." Looking again at her notes, she said, "What about Mr Robards? You've said he started the year near the top of the class, but now he can't seem to manage even simple cross-species Transfigurations." "Yes," said Albus, stroking his beard, "it's very strange. I'm not sure what's going on there, so it's hard to say if he would benefit from extra tutoring." "Do you think the problem might be emotional?" asked Minerva, remembering her own sudden difficulties the week Albus had disappeared to care for his injured brother. "It is certainly possible. I do hate to pry into an older student's personal affairs, but I should be very sad if Gawain failed his N.E.W.T. due to an emotional upset. He hopes to join the Auror office." "Maybe you can ask Diophantus to have a word with him. As his Head of House, he should know the boy best. Perhaps he just needs a sympathetic ear." "That is a fine idea, Minerva." "Either way, I'll mark him down for extra lessons—maybe just one hour per week? If he's already troubled, I'd hate to overburden him with extra work or make him more nervous about his exams." "Yes, do. And I'll speak to Diophantus this evening." They ran quickly through the remainder of the list, identifying an additional three students who needed extra help and whom Minerva would tutor. As she closed her notebook, Albus said, "I do appreciate your giving up your free periods, not to mention your Saturday afternoons." "Nonsense. It's my job, and it's only because you kept your O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. classes that I even have extra free periods. Besides, I'll be teaching the N.E.W.T. students next year, so it's to my benefit to work with some this year. Oh ... that is, if ..." She trailed off, embarrassed to have made the assumption that she would be teaching at Hogwarts the following year. She was reassured by Albus's hand on hers. "I daresay you will find that your contract will be renewed at the end of term, if you would like it to be. You're turning out to be a fine teacher, just as I suspected you would. I cannot imagine anyone raising any objection to your continued employment here." Minerva was unnerved to find her cheeks getting warm. She had thought she was long past blushing at his compliments. "Thank you, Albus. It's nice to hear you say that. I'm really enjoying it—even more than I thought I would." "I'm very pleased to hear it. Filius has told me much the same thing. Teaching grows on one, I think. If one has the inclination for it in the first place." "It helps to have a good mentor," said Minerva. "As with anything else." "Oh, indeed. Galatea Merrythought took me under her wing the first few years I was on staff. I think I would have been quite lost without her." "I doubt that. What do you hear from Professor Merrythought, by the way?" "She's well. As you may know, she retired to Cornwall. Although 'retired' is a bit of a misnomer," Albus said with a chuckle. "How so?" "She's taken up dragon hunting—says she's always wanted to do it." "Isn't that a bit dangerous for a witch of her ... er ..." "Age? Dangerous for anyone, I'd say, but Galatea has the energy of a witch half her age, and she's as formidable as any I've met of any age." "True," said Minerva. "Please give her my regards the next time you speak with her. She was always my second-favourite professor, you know," she said, giving him an affectionate smile. Albus took her hand again. "My dear Minerva." And that might have been it, Minerva later thought. The moment that sealed her fate. They were quiet for a short while, then Albus said, seemingly out of the blue, "Would you have dinner with me?" At first, she wasn't certain she had heard him right. "I beg your pardon?" "Dinner. I'm asking you to have dinner with me some evening. Tonight, if you're free." When Minerva didn't speak for a few moments, he withdrew his hand and said, "I'm sorry. That was rather abrupt. If you'd rather not, I certainly understand." "No, I was just surprised, that's all." After a pause, she asked, "And just to be completely clear, Albus, are you asking me for a date?" "Would you like it to be a date?" Minerva gave a small laugh, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. She said, "You still avoid answering questions by asking them." "Oh, well ... my answer, then, is that it will be a date if you wish it to be." "That, Albus, is hardly any better," she replied. "But I think I would like to have dinner with you. As a date." "A date it is, then. Why don't you meet me at the Apparition point outside the gate at, say, seven o'clock?" "Seven o'clock, then, Professor Dumbledore," she said, business-like, standing and gathering her things. "Seven o'clock, Professor McGonagall." It took most of Minerva's willpower to keep the grin from her face as she walked back to the Burbage cottage that afternoon. Not only was she elated at the idea of moving from friendship with Albus to something more, she was pleased that the strange, Limbo-like place in which their relationship had seemed stuck was at last falling away. It had been obvious almost from the beginning of her employment at Hogwarts that Albus still harboured some feelings for her that went beyond the collegial or the merely friendly, and she had already admitted to herself that her feelings for Albus Dumbledore would never be entirely free of the wistful longing that had characterised them since the day she had decided to put their affair behind her. But Minerva had thought the two of them would remain in the safety of their warm but awkward no-man's-land for quite some time to come, perhaps even forever, and she had resigned herself to it as being the best she dared hope for. She had promised herself that she would not attempt to move things in a romantic direction herself. Not this time. When she thought back on her behaviour just before and during their 1944 affair, she was most often appalled by her own self-centredness. She had been so young, so naïve—Albus had been right about that, of course, but not about its consequences. The damage wrought by her single-mindedness and her belief that anything they did in the name of love was right, if not exactly proper, had been to him, not her. The consequences of discovery were enormous for both of them, of course, but as she had grown and matured, and saw much more of life than she had at eighteen, she realised in a way she hadn't quite done before that her actions—even if well-intentioned and seemingly rational—could have sequelae that were beyond her control. Albus had been a man with far more responsibilities than those imposed by his position at the school. It had only occurred to Minerva years later that the "distraction" he had told her she represented might very well have cost lives, if he had delayed his pursuit of Gellert Grindelwald on her account. Even if he hadn't, the additional pressure of having a schoolgirl as a mistress—whatever its concomitant pleasures—was an additional albatross around the neck of a wizard with more burdens than any mortal should be asked to carry. To be sure, Minerva thought, he could have continued to resist her advances—she was no siren, after all—but none of it would have occurred had she not pressed her suit, whatever Albus's own failings at the time. And then there was his guilt. She had known well enough that he felt guilty—guilty for bedding her, certainly, and guilty for loving her, arguably—but she had dismissed those feelings as fleeting and unwarranted. At eighteen and in love, it had been easy to do. At thirty-one, she found it less so. There had been—and still was—a great deal about Albus Dumbledore that she didn't know. He had hinted at family troubles—and of course, she had seen evidence of these first-hand—and at something more sinister. He had never told her what it was, but she suspected it was the kind of thing that could eat away at a man's soul if he wasn't careful. She didn't think it had to do with her—not directly, anyway—but something about their relationship seemed to stir it up. She had caught a glimpse of it when he transcribed that odd poem into the journal he had given her. It felt dark and ominous, and when she had read the full text at his urging, it had frightened her, particularly once she had worked out the Latin of the epigraph that preceded the poem proper: I saw with my own eyes the Sibyl of Cumae hanging in a jar, and when the boys said to her, 'Sibyl, what do you want?' she replied, 'I want to die.' That was when she had realised how much it was a poem much about time and age and death—all things that had seemed to haunt Albus's thoughts in those final weeks before he ended their affair. The awful daring of a moment's surrender Which an age of prudence can never retract ... Minerva had tried not to wonder what awful act he wanted to retract. When Albus had enquired what she thought of the poem, she almost asked him, but, afraid of his answer, she had made light of her discomfort by airily dismissing the poem as a bit of Modernist piffle. If things progressed between them, she now wondered, would she have the courage to ask him at last? Stop it, Minerva, she admonished herself. It's just dinner. ~oOo~ When she stepped back out of the cottage, having decided to change into something suitable should they decide to dine in a Muggle restaurant, there was a light rain falling. Minerva cast an Impervious Charm and headed quickly to the Apparition point. When she got there, Albus was already waiting, wearing a long cloak over what looked like his normal wizard's robes. "I wasn't sure where we'd go, so I thought I'd wear my Muggle dress," she said. "If we're going to a wizarding establishment, I can easily Transfigure my cloak into something more suitable." "No, no. What you're wearing is most appropriate—and you look lovely, if I may say so. I have a Muggle jacket and trousers on under my robe. May I?" he asked, offering his arm, which she took. A moment later they were standing between two sand dunes, and she could hear the sound of the surf coming from just beyond. She had a little trouble walking in the sand in her Muggle shoes, and Albus apologised. "I'm sorry. The sand is probably getting in your shoes. It's just that I've found this to be the safest place for Apparition." "Where are we?" "Devon. A town called Croyde. There's quite a nice little restaurant in the High Street, and they will have a table for us at seven-thirty. I hope you won't mind a bit of a walk." "Not at all." Albus took a moment to re-cast their Imperviouses, as there was a strong-ish wind blowing, and they set off in the direction of the town. The restaurant was really very nice. The fare was simple but well-prepared, and the place was small enough to feel intimate without giving the impression that everyone could hear every word spoken. They shared a bottle of Chablis to go with the fish they both had ordered, and talked of everything and nothing as they ate and drank. It felt easy, Minerva thought, like they'd done it a thousand times before. There was laughter and light banter, a bit of stimulating and good-natured argument, and some surprisingly comfortable silences. By the time the waiter came to deliver the bill, Minerva noticed that they were the only ones left in the restaurant. When Albus asked the waiter what time it was, they were both surprised to learn that they had been at dinner for more than three hours. As they were leaving, the waiter said, "I'd be happy to call you a taxi, sir. Although you may need to wait a bit; we've only got the one in town, and he's likely to be busy this time on a Friday night." "Oh, it's not necessary," Albus replied. "We'll take shank's mare. But thank you." "I hope you have some good, strong brollies, then," said the waiter. "Turned a bit nasty out there, it has." "I'm sure we'll manage," said Albus. "Shall we, my dear?" he said, offering an arm to Minerva. The weather had indeed turned nasty. The wind was whipping around them and the rain was coming at stinging angles. By the time they had crossed out of the High Street and into a smaller, darker lane in which they could again use the Impervious Charm, they were both soaked through. "We can't Apparate in this," said Minerva. "Perhaps we should just find a pub and try to wait it out." "We could do that, I suppose. However, I have another suggestion." Minerva thought he might be about to suggest they find an inn in which to spend the night—a suggestion she wasn't sure she minded—but he surprised her. "I have some friends that live just outside town. I'm certain they wouldn't mind us dropping in and drying off. They also have a Floo connection." "That's lovely, Albus, but how will a Floo connection help us? Unless it's connected to Hogwarts?" "No. Let's head over and I'll explain when we get there." It took thirty-five minutes for Albus and Minerva to get to the cottage, their progress hampered significantly by the wind. It seemed to Minerva that they took one step sideways for every two forward, and she had to hold on to Albus's arm to keep steady in her impractical Muggle shoes. Finally, she stopped to Transfigure the damned things into a sensible pair of boots. As they approached the door, it swung open, and a voice called, "Albus! I thought I felt you through the wards. This is a surprise! Come in, my boy, come in." As soon as they were in the door, the man who had opened it cast warming charms on the pair of them, saying, "Now, my boy, make sure your lovely companion takes that seat right there, in front of the fire." Now that she was dry and out of the cruel wind, Minerva took a moment to wonder why the wizard, who looked to be no more than sixty—although it was always hard to tell with wizards and witches—would call the seventy-five-year-old Albus "my boy". As Albus took the seat beside Minerva at the wizard's insistence, they were joined by a woman, who came in saying, "Albus! So nice to see you!" Albus rose and embraced the woman. "Please forgive me, Perenelle, for dropping in unannounced, but Minerva and I were rather stuck." Both the wizard and witch turned eagerly toward Minerva, who rose as Albus said, "Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, please meet my colleague, Minerva McGonagall." Minerva extended her hand, intending to shake the wizard's, but he took it and swept it to his lips, kissing the back. He released it with a small bow, saying, "Enchanté, Madame McGonagall," and Minerva suddenly thought she knew where Albus had learned his courtly manners. Madam Flamel said, "I am charmed to meet you, Madam McGonagall," to which Minerva replied, "The pleasure is mine, Madam Flamel." "Ah, but you must be so cold!" said Madam Flamel. "Yes, do bring Albus and Madam McGonagall some brandy to warm them, Perenelle, if you would. And, ma chère, a nip for us as well, don't you think?" As Perenelle disappeared through a door, Minerva asked, "Forgive me, but are you Nicolas Flamel, the alchemist?" Nicolas gave another bow and said, "À votre service, madame." Minerva was dumbfounded for a moment. She knew Albus had worked with Flamel, but she had never expected to meet the great man herself. Now she understood why Nicolas called Albus "my boy". The alchemist was more than six hundred years old. Recovering her wits, she said, "I can't claim to know much about alchemy, Mr Flamel, but I understand that your work is the foundation for most of what we know of it." "You flatter me, Madam McGonagall. I am primarily famous through having lived so very long." "Well, yes. As the only known creator of a philosopher's stone. I would say you are justifiably famous, sir." "Yes, that was a good piece of luck," said Flamel. "It is a pity, however, that my life's ambition has not yet been met, and so I must soldier on, as they say." "What is your life's ambition, if I may ask," said Minerva. "To hear all of Handel's operas," came Perenelle's voice as she re-entered, bearing a tray, a bottle, and several glasses. When she set it down on the tea table, the bottle took it upon itself to pour four glasses, which floated to the waiting hands of the group. "And all the oratorios, ma chère, do not forget those. Do you like Handel?" he asked Minerva. "Yes, although I haven't really heard that much of his work." "Please tell me you are not an aficionado of this—what do they call it?—this bee-boop." Flamel shuddered. Minerva suppressed a smile until she heard Albus laugh. "Nicolas keeps up with all the musical developments," he said, "and he has yet to approve of anything since the Baroque period." "I see," she said, amused. "No, Mr Flamel, I can't say I am a fan of ... um ... bee-boop. I do like Mozart quite a bit," she offered. "Pah!" scoffed Flamel. "Little Austrian upstart. I heard him play once, you know. His father led him around Europe like a trained monkey. Disgusting." "I am sorry—" started Minerva, afraid she had offended. "Oh, pay no attention to him, child," said Perenelle. "He just likes to have something to complain about. If you really want to see him steam, ask him about Verdi," she said with a mischievous grin. "Oh, don't," said Albus. "I don't think I could bear another half-hour lecture on the depredations of the Italian Romantics on opera." "I never will understand your attachment to that vulgar showman," began Nicolas, but Perenelle cut him off, lifting her glass for a toast. "To friends old and new," she said, with a nod at Minerva. They all drank, and Perenelle asked, "Tell me, Albus, what brings you and Madam McGonagall all the way down here from Scotland?" Albus paused for a barely perceptible moment, then answered, "Minerva and I wanted to have dinner away from Hogwarts for a change, and I thought of the Earl of Devonshire and remembered its sea bass with mussels. I'm afraid I didn't count on the storm. We daren't Apparate back until it lifts." "I see," said Perenelle, and Minerva thought she detected a look passing between husband and wife. "You are welcome to stay here, of course," said Nicolas. "Actually, I thought, if it wasn't too inconvenient, that we could make use of your Floo." "Certainly, my boy," said Nicolas. "I will, of course, put it to rights when we are finished," said Albus, and Minerva shot him a wondering look. "You see, my dear, there are times when one has to bend the regulations a bit," said Albus. "You're going to break into the Floo Network," she said. "Well, yes, not to put too fine a point on it. Nicolas has been kind enough in the past to allow me access to his connection, and there is another in Hogsmeade that I often use. Normally, this Floo is connected only to the large public Floo near the Leaky Cauldron, but with a bit of an extra charm," he said, brandishing his wand, "I can get it hooked up to the one in the Hog's Head." "The Hog's Head?" asked Minerva. "Yes ... er ... the innkeeper there, he allows me the use of his Floo from time to time when I need to go somewhere besides the Ministry." "Isn't it a bit disreputable?" asked Minerva. She'd never been in the place, but she had been advised to steer clear and do her drinking, if she were so inclined, in the Three Broomsticks. "Yes, which is why it makes a convenient—and discreet—place from which to come and go. Hogwarts staff generally avoid it, and people there tend to mind their own business—usually because their own business isn't entirely legal. It's a sort of gentlemen's agreement the patrons have." "A gentlemen's agreement," repeated a sceptical Minerva. Albus hesitated a moment. "Although I should perhaps mention—in case you don't know already—my brother is the innkeeper." "Aberforth?" she said, taken aback. "Yes. He started working there shortly after he was attacked by those Blackrobes," said Albus quietly. "A few years later, he bought the place from old Stan Shunpike when he retired." "Oh. Well, that's good." Minerva was quite sure she didn't want to meet Aberforth Dumbledore again—at least, not yet, and especially not when she and Albus were returning from a "date". But Albus seemed quite keen to get back, and the weather didn't seem likely to cooperate anytime soon, so there was nothing for it, she supposed. "All right," she said. They finished their brandy and said their goodbyes. Taking a pinch of Floo powder from the container on the mantel, Albus said, "I'll just go first, if you don't mind, my dear, just to ensure my little adjustment worked. I'll return for you once I've tested the connection, all right?" Minerva nodded, and as soon as he had thrown down the powder, uttering, "The Hog's Head," he was off in a flutter of green flame. A few moments later, he stepped through again, saying, "All right, it's your turn, Minerva. Just say, 'The Hog's Head,' and it should take you right to the private sitting room in the inn." It worked exactly as advertised, and Minerva was shortly brushing soot from her cloak as she stepped out into a dusty, odd-smelling room lit only by a single oil lantern, which gave the place a slightly eerie ambiance. A minute later, Albus stepped out of the fireplace. "We can leave by the back way," Albus said after readjusting the Floo's charms. "But before we do," he said, his voice dropping, "do you think it would be permissible if I were to kiss you goodnight? I doubt you'd want me doing it on Charity's front stoop." Minerva's mouth went dry. "Yes. Please do, Albus," she whispered, and he pressed his lips gently to hers. The kiss lasted only seconds, but in that space of time, all the feelings—emotions and sensations both—she had tried to put firmly in the past came flooding back, threatening to overwhelm her composure. When he released her mouth, she turned immediately from him to steady herself, and she could feel him looking at her. When she turned back, he said, "I'm sorry, Minerva. Perhaps I shouldn't have—" "No," she interrupted. "You definitely should have. It just evoked certain memories." "For me as well," he said. He took both her hands in his and said, "I very much want to do things properly this time." "And what does that mean?" "It means I want to move slowly. Make sure this is right for both of us before we leap back into anything. I don't want to repeat the mistakes I made before." "They were our mistakes, Albus. And I agree. We should be cautious." "There is no explicit prohibition against staff seeing one another socially—it happens quite frequently, as you may imagine—but the fact that I am Headmaster, in addition to my celebrity, makes it desirable to maintain a certain level of discretion." "'Twas ever thus with us, Albus," she said with a slight smile. "And I prefer it that way, frankly. I don't like people knowing my personal business." As they passed through the small kitchen behind the bar on their way out, Aberforth Dumbledore came through the door, Levitating a stack of dirty mugs and glasses behind him. "Hello, Abe," said Albus. "We made use of your Floo, due to the inclement weather. I hope you don't mind." "And if I did, would you do any differently?" asked Aberforth. "Gah, never mind. You're the only one does use it, any road. Why would I want to go to Diagon Alley? Can't think why old Stan had the thing connected. He never used it either." Seemingly noticing Albus's companion for the first time, a crooked smile that was disarmingly like his brother's but completely lacking its warmth grew on his face. "Hello again, Miss Minerva McGonagall. Heard you'd gone to work for my brother." "Hello, Mr Dumbledore," said Minerva icily. "Just Aberforth'll be fine," he said. "You're not a student anymore." Albus and Minerva left the pub without another word. He walked her to the gate of Charity's house, and neither of them said anything about the encounter with Aberforth. "Goodnight, Minerva," he said, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Goodnight, Albus. Thank you for dinner. And for introducing me to the Flamels. They were very kind." "They are good people." "I'd like to hear more about your work with Nicolas sometime," she said. "Maybe the next time we have dinner?" "If you like. But remember, we have a chess game tomorrow." "I remember. I will look forward to it." "As will I." ← Back to Chapter 34 On to Chapter 36 → Category:Chapters of Epithalamium